


We Burned Away

by lemonsherry



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Bandom - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-04
Updated: 2010-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 17:40:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsherry/pseuds/lemonsherry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic contains paranormal behaviour associated with rain. Yeah, I don't know either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Burned Away

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics used at the beginning of each section are from:
> 
> The Lighthouse- The Hush Sound  
> Blonde on Blonde- Nada Surf  
> A Kiss to Send Us Off- Incubus
> 
> Title borrowed from AFI's Summer Shudder.

_ **Fic: We Burned Away** _

FOB Fic// We Burned Away// Pete/Patrick // NC-17 // ~1500 words

A/N: This fic contains paranormal behaviour associated with rain. Yeah, I don't know either.

 

**i.**  
there is a storm in the distance,  
the wind breathing warning of its imminence.

 

The sky is black; laden with clouds, thick and foreboding—mirroring Pete's mood. The pen that had previously been _scritch-scratch_ing against his usually neglected notebook is now abandoned, leaking ink unnoticed onto the dark blue sheet of his bunk bed, bleeding black and spreading towards his pillow.

The bus is moving steadily across the anonymous asphalt, on schedule and stocked full of junk food from the last pit stop. Patrick's in the bunk beneath Pete's, the tell-tale glare from the monitor of his Macbook creeping through his bunk's curtain.

Pete's discontent. His head feels filled with a fog of thoughts and ideas that are pounding at his skull, each vying for his attention. This is nothing new, he _usually_ goes through it when the rest of the world is asleep—three in the morning when the sky's at its blackest and neither his eyes nor brain will shut down.

But this, this is making his skin crawl. Not unpleasantly, more like something's being contained beneath his skin against its will. Compounded with the endless _noise_ of his thoughts, Pete feels like he's about to break apart.

He inhales deeply, forcing himself to keep at bay whatever version of a panic attack seems to be creeping up his throat. The air is thick and heavy with the scent of rain preparing to burst from the clouds. The sound of Joe and Andy's video gaming in the main area is intensified in Pete's ears as a roll of thunder claps. Their cheers become distorted and sound like cackles, mocking and hysterical in his fucking _head_, and he almost screams out loud; neck bent obscenely backwards as his body contorts within tangled sheets.

Then he hears Patrick humming beneath his breath, perfectly in tune, a song Pete recognizes after years of hearing Patrick use it to warm up. It seeps into his senses and calms his brain, so the hysteria within him isn't stopped, but is dulled.

He takes the opportunity to climb clumsily from his bunk into Patrick's.

\---

 

**ii.**  
cats and dogs are coming down  
14th street is gonna drown  
everyone is rushing round.

 

Pete lands roughly on the small bed space beside Patrick, who's curved towards the bunk's wall, propped up on pillows and appearing comical with his glasses slid down to perch on his nose, thickly padded black earphones over his basketball cap. Patrick removes them and closes the laptop resting on his knees, rolling his eyes exasperatedly at Pete.

"You know if this plan of '_keeping us a secret_' is supposed to last longer than a week, you're going to have to start sleeping in your own bed."

"Patrick," Pete chokes out, hands clawing at his throat now, preventing him from explaining what's happening to him, though he himself has no fucking idea.

"_Trick_, I'm—"

Patrick's eyes widen in concern and he reaches for Pete's arm, and the cool slide of his skin soothes Pete's senses briefly, like the sound of his singing had.

"What's wrong with you?" Patrick asks as he pushes away his computer, shoving the equipment ruthlessly to the bottom of the bed. "Can you talk—tell me what's wrong?"

Pete opens his mouth to attempt speaking again, and closes it just as quickly. He has no legitimate reason why, but somehow he _knows_ he should keep his mouth closed (and isn't that ironic, he's never been great at that), prevent whatever is confined within him from coming out. He shakes his head frantically until Patrick understands, and allows himself to be placed into the bed space Patrick was lying in.

The left over body warmth curls around him, soothes like the singing and Patrick's skin. He lets himself sink into it, hoarding the reprieve.

They stay like that for what seems like an endless moment, the wind outside howling against the bus and Patrick silently watching Pete surround himself with his sheets. Then Pete feels calmed enough to try and relate to Patrick what he's feeling; he runs his hands down his arms in an attempt to explain the _fire_ beneath his limbs, the flames licking and contorting in him, traveling to his fingertips and blazing under his nails.

Then a roll of thunder explodes over the bus, followed by a shock of lightening Pete feel's go _through_ him. He barely hears Patrick's '_I think it's the rain_' before he's lost, lit alive by the energy pacing from the sky into him, and focusing on its only escape.

\---

 

**iii.**  
there's a storm in the sky   
now the clouds become electric.  
here I am,   
there you are  
collide.

 

Patrick doesn't resist when Pete catches him by the collar and drags him down on top of him, he just gives a cursory glance to his dislodged hat before falling directly into the burning kiss. They know this, this they did yesterday afternoon in the backroom of their last venue. But _this_ is infused by something more, and Pete's grinding up against him already, his tiny body twisting and fitting itself into the soft curves of Patrick's body, legs crossing familiarly around his hips.

The kiss is fierce and rough, teeth clashing frequently between the slides of tongue that seem to further alight Pete's skin. He pushes a hand between their bodies, rips clothes away so he can feel _skinskinskin_; Patrick's, smooth and malleable and soap-scented.

He shoves a hand down Patrick's loose jeans and wraps it around him, barely registering Patrick's whimper in the haze of his mind, twisting his thumb across the already slick head of Patrick's cock repeatedly until his moans start coming out broken.

Pete removes his hand and pushes his own jeans down, mind now set on a purpose, one which he relates to Patrick with blazing eyes as he sops his fingers wet with spit and pushes them into himself. "_Fuck me_."

Patrick doesn't hesitate, just drops his head and works his mouth down Pete's throat, dragging his teeth past the thorns on his collarbones to scrape around his hardened nipples, swirling the nubs with his slick tongue as Pete keens and gasps out, "_Now_."

Patrick watches Pete remove the fingers inside him and flips him over unceremoniously, baring Pete's smooth back and curved ass to the air, lining up and entering him roughly.

"Fuck _yes_," Pete groans, and drops his head, rocking back on Patrick's cock as each thrust jars him, creates a spike in the somehow combined pleasure and madness beneath his skin.

"Harder," he grits, and is rewarded with a tilt in the angle that makes them both exclaim, hips orchestrating in equally intense movements; Pete giving as good as he gets, biting his tongue until it bleeds as he's entered deep and hard again and again and again.

Then Patrick's hand brushes his leaking cock and seems to set off a chain of events. The clouds break, and the sky releases a downpour which beats a million tattoos on the bus' roof, drowning out even the sounds of them fucking. Patrick's hand grips Pete's cock and his eyes squeeze shut as white-hot heat travels from his bones and out of his body in a climax that leaves him breathless, hearing Patrick's similar pants as he collapses above him.

And that's when his mind ceases to be his; the skin igniting burn within him has been replaced with the undeniable crackle of electricity. The voices in his head return and take _faces_, homes and histories that he somehow knows.

There's Katie, who's six and in her room crying because her Barbie broke; the one her deceased mother gave her.

There's Elizabeth, the aging grandmother who prays for her children to visit her.

Jason, the hard working accountant who lives in a studio apartment and wishes he had something to believe in.

And their thoughts are in Pete's head, their's and thousands of other's; depressed ad happy and hopeful and resigned.

His head is _blazing_, the very nerves inside him spitting and flicking out bursts of energy, opening up him to other minds and lives. It's overwhelming, and he flattens a palm against his closed eyes, wills it all it stop, leave him the fuck _alone_.

It somehow doesn't surprise him that it all finds another outlet, a searing pain travels along his optic nerve and then he can _see_. Through the bunk bed to know that Joe and Andy are now asleep in the main area, see to know they'll have a blown tire in about three miles, see Katie at sixteen learning that her father will remarry and threatening to run away, see Elizabeth having a stroke in front of her kitchen sink all alone, see Jason quitting his job and crashing into the eventual love of his life when he storms out of his office building, see ten years from now, he and Patrick--

Pete clutches Patrick's hand and it all stops, the downpour of rain, the people in his _brain_, the sight.

"Trick? Fucking _answer_ me, Patrick?" He thinks his voice has lost whatever sanity it had left, and he almost cries in relief at the silence in his brain, the _quiet_, (he doesn't think about how he already misses the ability to _see everything_).

"I'm here," Patrick answers, voice firm and real, in front of Pete and not swirling around in the madness that is his head, the only reality he has left.

"I'm here."

~fin


End file.
